Dickens
by Niu Shiy-Ue
Summary: A Christmas Carol, 3+4, with Trowa as Scrooge and Quatre as Crachit


I hate Dickens! So why the hell am I writing this? In July no less!  
  
Cast: Ebenezar Scrooge: Trowa Barton (//_-*) Jacob Marley: Hiiro Yuy (Omae o koroso) Bob Crachit: Quatre Winner (TB: Nnnooo!!!) Tiny Tim: Marimaia Kushrenada (//_-?) Ghost of C. Past: Long Meilan (LM: Why me?, Niu: Why not?) Ghost of C. Present: Sylvia Noventa Ghost of C. Future: Chang Wufei (CW: Injustice! LM: Oh, shut up!) Eb's sister: Catherine Bloom Eb's nephew: Duo Maxwell (DM: No way am I related to stone-face!) Eb's fiancee: Midii Une Fezziwig (Eb's employer): Duke Dermayl  
  
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"Mr. Barton? Sir?" Trowa looked up into the pale face of his secretary, Quatre Raberba. "Yes?"  
  
If an outsider had observed them, they could not have found two more different looking men. Trowa Barton was tall and solemn, dressed in fine, dark clothes that flattered his muscular build. His skin was darkly tanned from 40-odd years of life, and his face was coldly handsome, with carven features and icy emerald eyes. Quatre was young, only about 22 or 23, blonde and blue-eyed with the complexion and features of an angel. Unlike his employer, Quatre's clothes were all but rags; pale, washed-washed out third-hand rejects. Quatre had a disposition as sunny as a June morning; Trowa, on the other hand, fit in well with the dismal English Winter.  
  
Quatre shifted, blowing on his hands. Trowa Barton was a somewhat harsh man, he allowed his employee a little more than the stub of a candle by which to transcribe the accounts, and spent no money to heat the cold office. Trowa was indifferent to the cold, but Quatre had spent the entire season shivering. "It's Christmas Eve sir."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I was wondering if I might go home early." Trowa was very surprised. Suspicions on the other's character nonwithstanding, Quatre was always a punctual employee, always on time, never asking for a raise, never complaining about his employers slow, but violent temper, and had only mentioned the heating of the office once in his tenure there. He had outlasted all of Trowa's former secretaries and was unusually educated for his class. When Trowa had asked him about his endurance, he had merely stated that he needed the money. Perhaps he was a bankrupt rich heir or something, but that meant little to Trowa. Probably the fool had gambled his wealth away, the way so many others did.  
  
Trowa had no intention of letting himself off easy, regardless of the holiday, but on the other hand he did not want to take the trouble of searching out another, probably less capable employee. He settled on a compramise. "Alright, but don't expect a bonus just because it's Christmas."  
  
Quatre was nonplussed at his employer's response, he expected a flat out refusal and a dock in pay for his impertinence, the same as what others who had held the job had recieved, but he was going to take advantage of Barton's unusual good mood while it lasted. "Thank you sir. I'll be leaving now; the accounts are all complete and the book is in the drawer of my desk." He grabbed his worn coat and hat, but just as he was leaving, he turned to the other and called out a cheerful "Merry Christmas!" Trowa was surprised, no one had ever bothered to be even civil to him since he had started his buisness. Shaking off the momentary warmth that entered his heart, he turned back to the portfolios on his desk.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
On the way home, Trowa was accosted by his nephew, Duo Maxwell. "Good evening Uncle! Will you be at our house to dine tomorrow?"  
  
"I can think of little I would enjoy less."  
  
"Oh Uncle." Maxwell's cheerful face dimmed in a slight frown. "It's Christmas. Come on, have a bit of fun."  
  
"You keep Christmas your own way, and I'll keep mine my way."  
  
"But you don't. Keep Christmas that is." Duo reached out as if to grasp Trowa's arm, but then drew back when Trowa stepped away. "As you like." He turned away to continue walking down the street. Just as reached the corner, he looked back. "Just remember, our house is always open to you!"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Upon arriving at his townhouse, Trowa double-locked the door and prepared himself an ascetic meat. He lived alone, had no servants, but for a cleaning woman who came once every two weeks. Upon finishing his meal, he went straight to bed, for the house was little more heated than the office, and the chill was warded off by blankets instead of coal.  
  
Just as he was falling asleep, Trowa heard footsteps, and a heavy noise, like something weighty being dragged on the floor. Sitting up, he was surprised to see the shade of his old partner, Hiiro Yuy. He looked the same as he last had before being trampled by a runaway horse-and-carriage, seven years ago. Except around and about him were iron chains, bound and trailing behind him. "Hiiro!"  
  
The shade advanced and sat beside the bed in an armchair, as if no time had passed at all between them. "Trowa" he said. "Please listen to me, for my time is short and my advice important."  
  
"It must be, to send you wandereing about the earth thus."  
  
"Don't joke." The ghost frowned. "Tonight you are going to be visited by three spirits. Ah-" he raised his hand to forestall Trowa's objection. "They're going to show you things and tell you certain truths that you may not want to hear. You need to listen to them, and follow their advice."  
  
"Why do you tell me this?"  
  
"To spare you from my fate." Hiiro gestured to the chains that followed him. "I carry these chains to atone for my blindness in life; the same blindness you have." He looked up again at Trowa. "Dying hurts like hell, but at least it's short. If you continue to follow the same path you're on, I warn you, you're chains will be far heavier than mine. Now" he then stood up. "My time is up and I must go. But remember my words . . ." He might have said more, but with that the ghost of Hiiro Yuy faded away and Trowa fell asleep instantly.  
  
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"Wake up!" Trowa was jolted awake by a sharp voice. A young Chinese woman stood by his bed, dressed in bright red silk, with golden dragons embroidered on it. Her black hair was drawn into two pigtails and her black eyes flashed fire. "Wake up, we haven't got all night you know and we have much to do!"  
  
He looked at her in astonishment. "Who are you?"  
  
She sighed in exasperation. "Didn't Hiiro explain anything to you? My name's Meilan and I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past! More specifically, _your_ past!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of bed. "Now come along; we have so little time and so much to do!" She jerked him out the window and they went flying through the air.  
  
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They landed, beside a schoolhouse, somewhere in the country. "Do you remember this?" the rambunctious spirit asked the gasping buisnessman. "It's your old school." Suddenly they were inside watching a solemn young boy stare out the window. "That's you."  
  
A carriage drew up and a young woman with curly red hair and lavender eyes stepped out of it. She quickly entered and embraced the boy. "Trowa!" she cried out joyfully. "I've managed to change Father's mind! You don't have to stay here for the holidays; you can come home!" More gushing and packing went on in the background, but the two ignored the rest of the scene.  
  
"There once was a time when people did care for you Trowa. Your sister, for instance, and yet after all this time you still snub her son as if she meant nothing for you at all."  
  
"Hmph." That infuriated Meilan. "Don't you care at all?"  
  
"I would have rather had stayed at the school than be at home beaten by my father." Meilan's eyes widened. "Oh, I'll admit that Kathy did care for me, but if she had bothered to be just a tad less self-absorbed, she might have seen how Simon Barton abused the people in his household. Not just myself, but his wife, the servants . . . Kathy had a talent for missing the obvious." Trowa turned away from the packing and looked at the spirit. "As Simon's true child, she was spared the abuse, but she never bothered to find the reasons for my own behavior and her son is the same. You have failed to prove your point, Spirit."  
  
"We'll see about that." Meilan grabbed his hand and took off again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Another familiar scene awaited them when they landed. "Duke Dermayl's law firm." Trowa didn't wait for Meilan to identify it.  
  
"Your apprenticeship." They moved closer to the window to observe. It was quite festive inside, people were chatting and dancing, there was plenty of good food and music. Trowa watched two blonde girls come up and approach the younger version of himself and his partner, Hiiro Yuy. "Midii and Relena Darlian." said Meilan. She drew his attention back to the rest of the scene, where Duke Dermayl was making a speech. "You see how happy all these people are. It cost Dermayl a few pounds of your mortal money, but look at the return! Such praise he recieves!"  
  
Yet even this did not move Trowa Barton. "Would you like to know how Dermayl could afford this Spirit?" Another incredulous look. "Dermayl was an embezzler. The first year of our apprenticeship, Hiiro and I spent most of our time falsifying the accounts. He could afford to be lavish to his employees because he was cheating his customers." Trowa turned away from the window to look at Meilan. "I'll admit to be a cold, hard man, Spirit, but at least I'm an honest one. That's the second miss in a row for you."  
  
Meilan fumed. "I still have another thing to show you, Trowa Barton." Then they were off again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
This was slightly different, taking place at noon, outside by a frozen pond. A 20-something Trowa Barton was sitting next to a young Midii on a log. Meilan looked over at the now 40-something Trowa. "Feeling any twinges of regret yet?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
The two figures in the scene were speaking. "You just don't care for me anymore." Midii said. She wasn't crying, yet, but her eyes were very bright.  
  
"Have I given you any reason to believe that?"  
  
"Not in words, no, but in action." She got up, shaking out the folds of her black dress. "Once, we were happy to be poor, willing to wait for our fortune. Now, you have no time for me. I'm willing to free you form our bond, since that will make you happy." She turned and left the heartbroken young man.  
  
"Spirit" the older Barton said quietly. "Are you restricted to events of my own past or may you travel to others?"  
  
"If there is a place you wish to go to" Meilan replied quizzically. "Name it, and we may go there and then." Trowa gave her the place and the time, a few days before the incident they had just witnessed.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Two figures were in bed. One was obviously Midii from earlier, the other was a young brown-haired man with a moustache. "So" the man said "What shall we do about your dear fiancee?" He traced a line down her neck to her breast.  
  
Midii laughed. "Oh, don't worry about the poor fool. I have an excuse all thought out. I'll just complain that he's been paying more attention to his upcoming buisness than he has to me. A few fake tears, some clever words, and he'll be all over himself in guilt." She snuggled closer to the man. "Then we'll be free to do whatever we wish."  
  
Meilan turned away, sickened. "I didn't find out 'til many years later." Trowa said, emotionlessly. "The man you see in there was one of my first clerks, a Ralph Kurtz. At the time, I thought he was a good friend." He shook his head, then smiled bitterly at Meilan. "Any last tricks, Spirit? Otherwise, I would prefer to prepare myself for my next visitor."  
  
"Oh no you don't!" She returned sharply. "If your own past doesn't move you, perhaps someone else's will!"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
They landed in back of a large manor, somewhere in the country. Festive party sounds came from the brightly lit house. "Do you recognize this place?" Trowa shook his head. "Good. You shouldn't."  
  
"So where are we?" he asked. "Behind the Winner family manor. And don't ask why, you'll see in a second." After a few minutes shouting was heard. Then the door was opened and two figures were seen. The taller grasped the shorter by the collar and threw him out into the snow. "The heir to the Winner family, a molly! You're a disgrace! Get out of my sight!"  
  
The shorter figure straightened and Trowa gasped. "Quatre!" The two continued their conversation without noticing. "Father!" Quatre said but was overriden by the other silhouette. "I have no son! Now get out of here before I set the dogs on you!" The door was slammed shut. Quatre stared at it for a second, then turned and walked away, fading into the darkness.  
  
Trowa whirled and looked at red-robed Meiran. "Quatre . . . he's the lost Winner heir?" She nodded. "I can only show what actually happened, conjecture is Future's specialty, not mine."  
  
He looked towards where the shadow of Quatre had disappeared. "To be thrown out like that . . . at least I left of my own volition. How can he . . .?" Meilan took his hand again. "I still have more to show you, and we are already late."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
From the back of an upper class mansion to the dingy streets of London. Again there was Quatre, this time dressed in the worn clothes of the gentile poor. After six months of working together, Trowa made a startling discovery. "He looks like an angel." he whispered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said he looks like an angel." He chuckled softly. "He's been working with me since early July, and I never really looked at him till now."  
  
Meilan stared at the bedraggled, melancholy figure and shook her head. "I don't see it, but each to his own." They watched Quatre walk along the street, then stop and turn his head to look into an alley. He paused, then was about to continue on when a soft sob reached them. He then dashed into the alley. Meilan and Trowa followed him, and found him wrapping his thin cloak around a small red-haired girl. "That's Marimeia Kushrenada." Meilan told Trowa.  
  
"Are you alright?" Quatre asked as he lifted the beggar up. Trowa noticed that she had a naturally twisted leg, and wondered how she had survived so long. The girl wiped her eyes and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. I was just- it's so cold and I miss my mom so much . . . I shouldn't be crying."  
  
"What happened to your mom, Little One?"  
  
"She got real sick. She was coughing and couldn't work as a wait-wai- something for the Red Lion anymore so they threw her out. She started coughing up blood and finally last week she-she" Marimeia buried her face in Quatre's shoulder.  
  
"Shhhh" He cradled the girl gently. "You can stay with me for a while. It's not much, but at least it's out of the wind, and I can feed you something." She looked up at him. "R-really? D'ya want something-"  
  
"I'm not a pimp!" he replied primly. "I'm not interested in children. Just consider it my good deed for the year."  
  
Meilan tugged on Trowa's arm. "We have to go. I still have one more thing to show you and we're already late." Trowa turned back to the figures "But- "  
  
"No, now!"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"And here is our final destination." This was very familiar to Trowa, it was just outside his office, about six months ago. "This is the day Quatre got his first paycheck."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"Oh, now you're silent." The next few words were in Chinese, but Trowa suspected they were curse words. "We're going to follow Quatre throughout that day. I want you to stay quiet till the end, understood?" He nodded.  
  
Quatre stepped out of the offices. He didn't lock up, for even though it was already dark, Trowa was still grinding away inside. He quickly dashed away, but instead of heading home or to a pub to eat or anything, the first place he went was to an apothecary. They didn't follow him and he didn't stay long, but he was carrying a small paper bag when he came out. Trowa wanted to ask what was in the bag, but Meilan death-glared at him and he held his peace.  
  
From the apothecary he went to the market. There he picked up a paper, dry goods and some third-hand (almost rags in fact) clothes. Overburdened, he made his way to the poorer side of town, only slightly better than where he had picked up Marimeia. As he passed the park, he cut a few plants surreptitiously, and again Trowa was tempted to question the spirit. Finally he made it to a small garret.  
  
Small it may have been, but he opened the door with a smile. Inside was little Marimeia, carefully doing sums on a bit of wax. "I've got your medicine from the doctor" he said, setting everything else down and picking her up to give her a hug. "Have you been a good girl?"  
  
"Yes, papa" She cuddled him. "I've finished the multiplication tables."  
  
"Very good." He set her down and began to put things away. "Then tonight I'll start teaching you division. And I brought a treat for you."  
  
"Flowers?"  
  
"Yes" He handed the buds to her. "Put these in water and they'll bloom for you tomorrow. I also bought a paper so we can work on your reading and writing. How does that sound?"  
  
The scene faded away as fog rose around them. "Seen enough?" asked Meilan. "I bet you thought he spent his first wages on gambling or drinking." Trowa stayed silent, for that was indeed what he had thought, especially since Quatre never seemed to improve his wardrobe or his eating habits. He was still as thin as a rail and as ragged as Oliver Twist, the same as he had been the first time Trowa had seen him. "How?" he asked the spirit, but when he turned around, Meilan had already left.  
  
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Trowa awoke in his bed, but quickly fell asleep afterwards. Yet it seemed merely moments later when a pale light filled his room and woke him again. Another young woman stood by his bed, pale blue eyes, short blonde hair and dressed in glowing white robes. "Hello" she whispered softly to him. "My name is Sylvia. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present."  
  
He propped himself up on his elbows. "And are you here to drag me through a gauntlet of images like your predecessor?"  
  
She smiled. "Only one scene. Please, take my hand."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
They were back at Quatre's garret. Oh, but such a change! If anything more crowded than before, but without the washing on the grate, with candles set on the mantle, windowsill and table, a neat stack of books beside the trundle bed. The inhabitants were no well dressed than before, though they had more layers of rags upon then, but they're faces were more shining than ever. Quatre carried Marimeia in, both still singing carols from the church. Quatre set her down, and she grabbed her crutch, to help Quatre prepare their small supper as best she could.  
  
And small it was indeed. Ten pence a week does not go far, even when taking in washing and scrounging as best you can for bargains in the market. No goose or turkey here, just two sausages in their own juices, but heartily enjoyed, indicating that this itself was rare for them. Some potatoes, whole, a bit of applesauce and a scone, and tea with a bit of lemon, warmed on a hob.  
  
That was all, and apparently enough for these two, then Quatre presented Marimeia with a real book for a present, and she in turn gave him a small scarf, the work of several months at home. The two were happy, in a way Trowa had not let himself see for a while. He turned away, and looked at Sylvia. "Let us leave Spirit."  
  
She nodded and they went out to the street, where the lights from the candles could still be seen. "One would think, Barton, that you had never seen such in your life before." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering her. "I have not."  
  
"What a sad life you lead." Then she turned and walked away into the rising mist. "The Ghost of Christmas Future is at hand." She called over her shoulder.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
For a few minutes, while waiting for the third spirit to appear, Trowa reflected on what he had seen. "Truly, Hiiro is correct and I have been blind till this night. The lesson given here is clear, and yet I still see no solution. Should I search for friends, act as if I hadn't a care in the world? No, that's not me. Still, the third spirit has yet to make his appearance, perhaps there is yet more to be learned." He looked up and saw a black figure, cloaked and hooded, about half a foot shorter than him approach. "Are you the Ghost of Christmas Future?" he asked.  
  
The figure nodded. It paused, and then a caramel hand violently ripped the hood off. "I can't breathe under there!" a young oriental man cried. He was of average height, of the same origin as Meilan. "Wufei" he introduced himself. "WU-FEI, not Wu-man, not Fei-fei, and most certainly not Wuffers or Wuffie! Have I made myself clear?" Trowa nodded. Apparently the Ghost of Christmas Future shared more than just a nationality with the Ghost of Christmas Past. "Good" Wufei clapped his hands and the mist quickly cleared. Trowa discovered that they were standing in a graveyard. In fact, a few feet away stood his tombstone.  
  
"Are you trying to impress me? All men must die sometime."  
  
"Baka" Wufei was possibly even more touchy than Meilan. "Like your own death would matter to you. No, look over there." He pointed towards the entrance.  
  
It was Quatre yet again, older and far more careworn than Trowa ever expected to see his clerk. He was even thinner and paler, and he was coughing into his sleeve. In his hand he carried a small bundle of holly. He made his way up and stopped at a grave next to Trowa's. He divided the holly in half and placed half on Trowa's grave, a surprise, and half on the grave beside his. Then he sat back. "I'm sorry, I haven't been visiting either of you lately. I've felt so sick, but that's no excuse. I'm sorry I couldn't afford flowers for either of you." He paused. "I'm sorry. God knows" he turned to Trowa's headstone. "You certainly don't care what I do, or did when I was working for you. You would have laughed if you knew how I felt about you. But you were the closest thing I ever had to a friend, and I desperately need to talk to someone. I'm so lonely now that you're both gone. I even miss all your grumbling." He turned to the other one. Trowa couldn't see whose it was from the angle he was at, but he had a horrible suspicion that he didn't want to. "I kept all your books. Our home's so empty and cold without you. You were my last purpose in life, now I don't have a reason to go on. I'm trying hard to take care of myself, the way you'd want me to, but it's so hard to even get up in the morning without your cheery voice." Quatre was set by coughing fit, doubling over till he was flat on the ground. He finally managed to sit up, tears streaming down his face. He slowly stood, supporting himself on a nearby tree. "I won't be seeing you for a while, not until I get better at least. Then I'll find some flowers to bring both of you. Maybe get something to decorate this place . . . Gods how I miss both of you." He leaned down and kissed both tombstones, first Trowa's then the other one, which Trowa was pretty sure was Marimeia's. "Good-bye."  
  
A few minutes of silence went by, while Trowa and Wufei watched him stagger out the gates. "He's going to die." Wufei stated matter-of-factly. "He's not going to live the week out."  
  
"How can you say such a thing!" Trowa whirled and tried to punch Wufei, but missed. "He can't die! He's so young-"  
  
"At this point Death will be a mercy to him. He doesn't have a job, he _does_ have TB, and everyone he's ever cared for has either thrown him away or died." Wufei stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. "Frankly, I'm surprised he made it out the year. What do you care?"  
  
"I care" whispered Trowa, collapsing in on himself. "I care so much, and I never even realized I would." He looked up at Wufei. "Is there no way to change this?"  
  
Wufei hesitated. "The only change can done by you. Wether this scene takes place next year or twenty years from now doesn't matter, it will only change if you do something about it." Another minute of silence. "Seen enough?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Trowa sprung up out of bed. Gasping, he looked around. "What time is it?" he asked himself and was answered by the chimes striking out 7 in the morning. "What to do? What to do?" he muttered, pacing around the room. For another hour he fretted and paced, but then came to a decision. He dressed in a flash, and was out the door even quicker. Although still not the friendliest, he did smile and offer a "Merry Christmas!" to those who greeted him. That in itself was enought to set people staring and pinching themselves to see if it was a dream. First, he was off to his nephew's. "Why Uncle!" exclaimed Duo Maxwell upon opening the door. "Is something the matter?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing." And for the first time in his life Trowa Barton smiled at his nephew. "I was just wondering if your invitation for tonight was still open?"  
  
Duo was flabbergasted. "Why yes of course! Have you changed your mind?"  
  
"Would it be possible for me to bring two guests over?"  
  
"If you'd like. You and they, and my friend Solo will be the only people I'm afraid, Milliard and Relena Peacecraft both cancelled." Trowa stopped and thought about it. This perhaps was even better. "Would it be possible to move the celebrations to my house? I certainly have enough room, and I would be quite willing to lend Hilde my kitchen. I'll order a turkey to be sent over for her."  
  
If Duo had been nonplussed before, now he was sure that Ragnarok had arrived. "I-I, uh, are you feeling well?"  
  
"Never better."  
  
"Well, if you're sure." Violet eyes searched emerald. "We'd be happy to. I'll just make a quick call to Solo, then Hilde and I will pop over to your house immediatly. Hilde likes to get an early start on Christmas cooking."  
  
"Wonderful"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The next place Trowa went was the Poulterer's where he ordered the large prize turkey to be sent to his house. He made several stops in the marketplace, ordering what Hilde would need for her cooking. Then he raced to the office. Now, if only he could catch his angelic secretary being late for once!  
  
And he was. The clock struck nine, then quarter past. Finally Quatre made it in, a full eighteen and a half minutes late. Hat off, face flushed, if Trowa hadn't already been aware of how attracted he was to his employee, he was now. Chilling his voice to it's usual tones he began to speak. "You're late."  
  
"*pant* It won't *pant* happen again sir *pant*."  
  
"Damn right it won't, therefore" he paused, a bit of the old mischieviousness still in him. "I'm giving you a raise."  
  
For a few seconds there was dead silence. "Excuse me, but I seem to be losing my hearing. Could you repeat yourself, please?"  
  
"I said I'm giving you a raise." Quatre blinked, swayed and probably would have fallen if Trowa hadn't stood up and caught him. "A r-raise?"  
  
"Yes, a raise." He carefully manuevered Quatre to sit down in his chair. "And we may want to discuss some unclaimed assets of yours that have been placed in my care over the past year. In fact, I would like to discuss your entire financial situation with you this evening."  
  
"This evening?"  
  
"Yes. If you and your daughter would come over this afternoon we can get this done in time for the my party."  
  
"Party?"  
  
"Not very many guests I'm afraid, just myself, my nephew and his wife and friend, and you and your daughter." And then Quatre truly fainted.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Now it's getting late (as in 2AM late) so I won't tell you the rest of the story, of Barton's party or the how the Winner Estate was restored to it's heir (or rather it's heir was restored to the estate!) or even wether the mistletoe that Solo brought that evening was used by more people than just Hilde and Duo. Suffice to say that in the coming years Marimeia did _not_ die, and Quatre eventually moved out of that slender garret into a more prosperous neighborhood in London (a certain townhouse owned by a very capable lawyer) and that they all lived happily ever after. Merry Christmas tqml! 


End file.
